


The Other Side of Paradise

by KissMyAsh



Category: Game Grumps, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Bad Flirting, Coffee Shops, Curses are the spice of life, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Like, Musical References, Oblivious Reader, Pregnant Sex, Reader curses a lot, Reader is pregnant, Romantic Fluff, but not really?, kinda slow burn, reader has a temper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 04:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17237213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissMyAsh/pseuds/KissMyAsh
Summary: The tall man from before hesitantly steps up to the counter offering a placating smile, “Sorry about that, I hadn’t seen you standing there.” And you glance up and suddenly every scathing or even slightly sarcastic reply was torn from your lips.There was honestly no way to put it in words, but if you had to, you would quote your dear friend Squidward: Oh no, he’s hot.





	The Other Side of Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the start of My Dan AvidanXReader fic, buckle in and shut the fuck up because we're going on a ride.

Fucking  _tall-ass_. You nearly hiss as you bump into an absolute beanpole of a man. You’d like to say that your sudden burst of anger comes from hormones or working the morning shift— but really, who likes a liar? So, you were a slightly angry person at heart, but when you’re carrying not one, but  _two_ , trays of hot ass coffee that would hurt like a bitch to spill it’s slightly understandable. Besides, what kind of human being orders coffee this early just to lag around the building? Most normal morning patrons came, got their shit, and left. 

   


But no, not the crowd over in table three, and not this piece of work who decided to stand right in the wrong place at the wrong time. Thankfully nothing actually spilled thanks to the cardboard containers and lids but still…

   


Casting a glare over your shoulder you make it to the table place the coffee down and retreat back to the counter to take more orders. The tall man from before hesitantly steps up to the counter offering a placating smile, “Sorry about that, I hadn’t seen you standing there.” And you glance up and suddenly every scathing or even slightly sarcastic reply was torn from your lips. 

   


There was honestly no way to put it in words, but if you  _had_  to, you would quote your dear friend Squidward:  _Oh no, he’s hot_.

   


He quirked his eyebrow and then you were back to the real word but unfortunately, you had already made a fool of yourself. Right as you scramble to ask for his order, he interrupts you.

   


“Well, most people call me Dan, but you can go ahead and write  _he’s hot_  on the cup.” Your face, your poor, poor, face was overheated. You could feel the blood mingling in your cheeks and you were one-hundred-percent sure you mimicked a tomato perfectly.

   


Fumbling over your words you managed to get out a ‘sorry,’ and a, ‘what would you like to drink?’ but it was too late. The damage was done and your dignity would never recover from the abuse it endured today.

   


“Hey don’t worry about it, man.” He—Dan—said as he retreated to wait for his liquid life to be made. You snorted, don’t worry about it, yeah right. You’d be thinking about this screw up until you were eighty.

   


Regardless, four give or take minutes later, you popped the cap onto his drink and in a moment of boldness you wrote down ‘ _oh no, he’s hot_ ’ on his cup with a very traumatized doodle of Squidward to go along with it. Sliding it across the bar he picked it up, looked at the cup and laughed. Dan sent a wink your way and left. You were only slightly grateful that you would never see him again; you’d be robbed of that wonderful eye candy but you wouldn’t be reminded of your blunder again. 

   


Did you say never again? Never again turned into next week, when you had to pick up the morning shift, again. His stupid, handsome face had lit up when he saw you at the counter and he all but rushed to get in line. Quickly you served the three people in front of him and waited with bated breath as he stepped up. “I was wondering when I’d see you again!” Polite. He was being polite. Maybe he had forgotten about— ”I see you are stunned by my hotness yet again. Don’t worry about it, no one can resist the Danny Sexbang charm.” Egotistical prick.

   


“Stunned isn’t the word I’d use.” You bit out while he rested his elbow on the thick surface separating the two of you.

   


He nodded, his face deadly serious as he gestured to his body, “You’re right. Awestruck sounds better doesn’t it?” His eyes met yours and there was humor dancing in them but with his face set in such a grim line you couldn’t help but giggle. His goofy smile slipped back on his lips like a victory flag.

   


“Shuuuree it does, handsome.” Drawing out your words you looked at him through low lids as you were unable to deny the temptation of feeding his ego. He looked like he wanted to continue the mindless banter, and you  _kinda_  wanted to too but alas all good things come to an end. Some douche behind him bitched about wasting time so you made Dan’s coffee and waved him off. 

   


The asshat ordered his shit and you made it quicker than most and decided to barely place the lid on the cup rather than securing it. Fucker was in for a surprise. He took the cup, didn’t bother to tip, and left. It was only a small consolation that as soon as he stepped out the door the hot liquid splashed onto his hand.

   


Point one you, point zero for douchey customers.

   


If you got to see Dan again, maybe picking up a few more morning shifts wouldn’t  _kill_  you. 

   


Dan and his goofy ass smile might though.

   


You could grin and bear it for three more hours; after the clock struck eleven you were free, well not really, but still. The clock was a merciful mistress and went just a little faster than normal and went you finally hung up your apron the sun was about halfway in the sky and your stomach was mumbling something fierce. “Shush.” You said quietly as you patted your belly, “Mama’s gonna get us food in just a sec.” You gathered a few looks despite your effort to keep quiet. You knew it looked bad, a reasonably young-looking woman, by herself, talking to her unborn fetus. 

   


But hey, shitty accidents can make happy mistakes, right? Well, Bob Ross believed it so you believed it too. Who didn’t take Bob Ross's word as gospel though? Man was a saint. But you could have some deep Ross thinking later, now was the time for body destroying fast food. With the Sonic sign practically calling you over you knew you had no choice. Giant milkshakes were  _exactly_  what the doctor ordered, a side of cheese fries too.

   


Sonic wasn’t too packed so you got your meal fairly quick. Despite the good weather and practically empty building, you decided to take your food to go. Mostly because you were pretty much dead on your feet. You weren’t far in your pregnancy, like, at all. You were  _maybe_  four weeks? If that? You had only caught on early because you had taken a trip to the doctors after some nasty cramping. Couldn’t exactly depend on your period because it was irregular as all get out; well fuck that noise, you wouldn’t get it for another eight months now anyway.

   


At least you were close to home, though that wasn’t much of a comfort. You had two flights of stairs to get up before you could call it quits. Huffing out a curse or two you began the tedious motion of traveling up to your studio apartment. True, it was tiny and probably not the best for an expecting woman but that was a good way off and you hated spending money when you didn’t need to. Besides, most of your money would be going to baby stuff so you had no point in upgrading to something bigger. Not when it would just be you, and the fetus. Speaking of, you really needed to start thinking up names, you couldn’t call it fetus forever.

   


Sitting down at the table you eagerly dug into your French fries with a moan, the salty taste sparking a new respect with your taste buds. As you easily downed half of the tray you sighed in the quietness of your home. It was tiring eating alone sometimes, not that you didn’t enjoy the quiet! It just… got old. You wouldn’t be alone for long, you hummed and rubbed your stomach, you just had to do a bit of waiting. You weren’t really that patient but you supposed you could be. Just this once.

   


Finishing up your fries and shake you trashed the remains and slumped over to your bed; grabbing your laptop off the floor you heaved it up and placed it on your chest to browse through YouTube. You used to be pretty big on surfing through random videos but now you mostly used it for free music because who the hell pays for iTunes? A lot of people probably, but not you. Putting your mix on shuffle you placed your computer on the nightstand and rolled onto your stomach. Inhaling the scent of you on the pillow was relaxing and you almost felt yourself slipping away.

   


Tomorrow you didn’t have to clock in till noon and then you had a commission to work on when you came back. That meant that you had your morning free and you could sleep in like the lazy bum you were. Excellent.

   


Digging your phone out from your jegging pocket you switched on an alarm for eight. It was only three in the afternoon but with all the shifts you were forced to take this week you knew you could easily sleep through to next morning.

   


And you did, in fact, sleep until morning. You just woke up a bit early. Early being six sharp but you could roll with it. Sliding out of bed you slipped in the shower and let your head fall on the cool tile. The hot water streamed down your back and made an annoying stream of water run down your nose but you let yourself be taken with the steam. The heat worked out all of those god-awful kinks in your shoulders and lower back and you could only take a small moment to grieve. Once you ballooned up it would be way worse. Just thinking about the morning sickness and swollen body parts was stressing. Running a shampoo filled hand through your hair and lathering some vaguely floral scented body wash on your body you almost felt refreshed enough to face the day. It was barely six thirty so you ate an orange and pulled out the yoga mat stored under your bed. Going through the new poses was therapeutic in its own way; you didn’t do yoga before you found out about your happy mistake and had only started doing it after you read that it was healthy for you to do so. Not that you really cared, but you at least wanted to be able to bend when you got later on into your trimesters. 

   


Going through a handful of poses was difficult. Not because you couldn’t do them or you weren’t in the headspace for it but  _damn_  it was boring staying in one position for a minute or two without moving. Regardless, you completed the routine like a big girl. When you wrapped up it was nearly seven so you threw on a pair of dark jeans and your work polo with a hoodie over it. You weren’t due in for a long while but it was the perfect time to grab an actual breakfast and pick up a few things you needed in your apartment. 

   


You chose to walk again today as the weather was decent and most of the places you were going was within a reasonable distance. Your first stop was, obviously, the small mom and pop diner on the corner. When you first moved here the diner had been god’s greatest miracle at the time; you were new and more than a little broke at the time but they still let you pick up a tab and didn’t care when you were five dollars short. Not to mention they had banging French toast. Like  _really fucking good_  French toast. You bounced a little just thinking about the sweet breakfast food and rushed down the street as fast as you could while still trying to look adult-ish. It was a hard thing to accomplish when your stomach was in control. When you all but slammed the door open you could smell the sweet and savory smells of breakfast food wafting from the closed-off kitchen. 

   


“Barb!” You affectionately called out and grinned once you saw an aging face and pinned up greying-blond hair peek through the window. A spatula was firmly in her grip as she gestured loosely with her hand; in other words,  _sit_. You had come so often they stopping seating you instead trusting you to find your own seat. Which was unnecessary, you sat at the bar more often than not. Today was no exception as you hopped up on the stool and swung your legs that were too short to touch the floor. Letting your head slip down to rest on your crossed arms you sighed; you felt much more at home here than you did at your old one but then again you had left as soon as you had reached the legal age. 

   


The bored waitress behind the counter gave you a wave but didn’t bother to take your order, she had come to learn that you stuck to your regular more often than not. If you wanted something different you would say so the moment you stepped in, unless it was busy of course, you were childish, not rude. Barb herself—she had refused to let you call her Barbara seeing as you were basically family— had journeyed from out the kitchen to personally hand you your plate. Inhaling the aroma of fresh food had your mouth watering. She placed the bottle of maple syrup next to you and retreated back to the kitchen. The first course of action was to pour half of the bottle on your French toast like the sophisticated individual you were. Only after they were completely drowning in the thick liquid did you begin munching on them. Fishing your phone out from between your cleavage—fucking female pants not having sufficient pockets— you idly scrolled through your social media as you stuffed your face. Only once did you look up and that was because the waitress had handed you a mug of milk to wash down the thick mush that made your cheeks poke out like a dumbass.

   


“Are those any good?” You jumped at the voice coming from your left. You hadn’t even noticed anyone sit by you because who would? They had the whole damn bar yet they chose to sit next to you? Flicking your eyes to the side you choked on your mouthful. Your unwanted companion patted your back as you hacked up your lungs. 

   


The hot, egotistical, prick from the Cafe was sitting next to you. He watched you make a fool of yourself, twice. Chugging half of your glass of milk you glared at him from over the rim, “Yeah, they’re fucking scrumdiliumptious.”

   


His face brightened and his eyes threatened to close from how wide he was smiling. “Good to know!” He called the waitress over and asked for the same thing you had. Geeze, what was this man playing at? “So, you come here often?”

   


“Second home.” You sigh, it was impossible to stay mad at the dopey smile that he had. Really, you shouldn’t be giving this sort of information out to random people but… he was a hunky stranger so? Yeah that was crappy common sense but you were an adult who mostly had your shit together so you could handle him if he did turn out to be a weirdo. “What about you?” You asked as you slid a soggy piece of toast around to collect more syrup. 

   


“Occasionally.” He cheered as his own plate was put down in front of him, “Mostly just didn’t want to starve before I made it to work.” You nodded. You were surprised to find that you watched him take his first bite. He had to have liked French toast if he asked for it. You hoped that he didn’t just ask for what you had to flirt because you really rather not fuck up his breakfast. But if he didn’t like the dish then too bad because  _he_  ordered it. Not you.

   


Your worries were mostly unanswered because he held the bite in his mouth and hummed in enjoyment. His head bopped side to side and he turned to you with all of his unmanageable cheer, “You were right, these are ‘fucking scrumdiliumptious’.”  

   


Haughtily you tossed your hair over your shoulder, “Of course they are. You think I’d eat plebeian food? I have standards.” He giggled, like, really  _giggled_. You’ve never heard a man giggle before, but fuck, Dan made your knees weak with those tiny sounds.

   


Dan blew a chunk of hair out of his face and turned to face you fully, his nose scrunched up and his face fully serious, “Of course, only the best for the lady.” Well now. You placed your hands between your legs and leaned back slightly. You didn’t know how to go about this. Acquaintances—friends? —weren’t something you had much luck in. It’s been two years since you moved here and you were still pretty isolated, Barb being the exception. Were you supposed to keep joking or should you rally him into a game of twenty questions? Better yet did he even consider you a friend? Acquaintance? You’ve met like a solid three times that didn’t even tally up to fifteen minutes yet he seemed insistent on talking to you when he saw you. Was he just being nice? You really hoped not…

   


You were sure your self-pitying thoughts could have, and would, continue but for now they were halted by a finger moving itself up and down in front of your nose. Blinking back to reality you watch him moving his hand around in front of your face like a dweeb. Playing along you let your eyes follow the path his finger traces. He had nice fingers, they were thin and lengthy being able to cut through the space between them and you vaguely had the urge to thread your own fingers through his.  _Begone thot thoughts_  you mumble to yourself as you bat his hand away from your face, “Watch your fingers, I bite.”

   


“Kinky.” Dan giggled as he leaned out of your personal space. You twiddle your thumbs, you had killed about an hour and a half which left you two hours to go shopping, get back home and leave, again, for work. Which meant that if you wanted to be on time and not gross smelling you had to leave the diner. Had to leave Dan.

   


“Ugh, listen, I gotta go— nice talking with you though?” You offer as you muster up the courage to break away from your handsome companion. He snaps his head up and whines in the back of his throat motioning for you to wait. You do, for some reason. His hand grabs at a napkin that sat to his left and he quickly scribbles something down with the blue pen he pulled from his pocket. He shoved in, half-crumpled, into your hands. 

   


Shooting you an award-winning smile he nodded good-naturedly, “No problem! I’ll see you within the week I'm sure.” 

   


If anyone else had said that you would have been thoroughly repulsed and creeped out, but considering you did, in fact, see him nearly every other day at the coffee house you gave him a pass. You laid down the correct amount of bills on the counter and turned to leave, “I’ll hold you to that, I need more practice doodling Squidward on those cups. Harder than you’d think.”

   


His laugh followed you out the door. Peeking down at your hand that held the napkin you almost squealed, you hoped his number would be written on it. You were sure it was, but you didn’t want to look overly excited by taking a glance at it while you were still in his sights. You were right, thankfully, you wouldn’t know what you would do if it turned out to be something stupid like a joke. When was the last time somebody slipped you a number?  _Has_  anyone actually slipped you a number? The answer was probably no. Your first attempt at romance was a failure and your bar hoping had given you your happy mistake. You shrugged. First time for everything you suppose.

.

.

.   
.

...You wasted no time adding a new contact under the name  _Oh no, he’s hot_.

   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   


**Author's Note:**

> You've made it through my shitty first chapter, congratulations. Honestly, it's going to be hard to write this, mostly because Dan is a real person and I feel somewhat squeamish about essentially controlling what he would do to make a story but I mean I'm already going to hell soooo, I just hope none of the Grumps ever get on AO3 and find this. And if they do, I sincerely apologize in advance.
> 
> Tell me what you guys think! I enjoy hearing from you.


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